


the Men We Were

by RainyPaperAngel



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Avengers - Freeform, Brainwashing, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Developing Relationship, Drug Withdrawal, Eventual Smut, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Modern Era, Past Relationship(s), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Stucky - Freeform, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Withdrawal, bucky is free, idk - Freeform, maybe smut, steve misses the old days, we'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:27:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23519167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyPaperAngel/pseuds/RainyPaperAngel
Summary: When Bucky escapes from HYDRA, his one instinct is to go to the star-spangled man who seems to have... answers, hopefully. Barely remembering how to function, he finds his way to a friend missing him deeply. But something in Bucky is broken, and both he and Steve are wishing for something that never was and is long gone. Can they rebuild something in this new and strange world?OrBucky is a lil' broken, but he wants to get better. Also, there might be smut, eventually... we'll see!Hopelessly abandoned after chapter 3... IIIIIIII'm sorry.......
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36
Collections: All of the Stucky





	1. Days of Past and Nights of Present

**Author's Note:**

> Steve remembers his and Bucky’s youth while trying to get drunk, missing his friend relentlessly. He remembers their first kiss.
> 
> The Winter Soldier gets tortured and wiped after a mission, finally breaking in his cell and breaking out and away. As he stumbles into the modern world, the only thing he remembers is the Avengers.  
> \-----  
> I'm still new to AO3, but I hope I'm doing okay <3

The somber tunes of the old, over-used radio filled the room. Tony had begged him to let him upgrade it time and time again, but Steve just couldn’t give it up. He didn’t want any robotic knick-knacks on it, and knowing Tony, he would get knick-knacks alright… So the scratchy music pierced the air hand in hand with the sweet scent of useless drinks and the faint smell of dish-soap.

“You can’t mope around all day y’know.”

Steve scoffed at Sam. “Good thing ‘s evenin’ then.” His lips touched the cool glass as he tilted his head back, allowing the harsh taste down his throat.

It had been a night like this. Wetter and greyer, yet somehow brighter, it seemed, but much like this. The first rain of spring, or so the papers had said, if he remembered correctly. The smell in the air had been very unlike Brooklyn, not sour or pissy, but fresh and clear – petrichor, wasn’t that what it was called? The lights from the windows had painted a Monet on the road, the few cars on it spreading the paint to the buildings. A lovely evening indeed.

Bucky had boxed that night, he’d won, but not without a prize. He’d dared to come home after six, broken lip and a rosy odor on his collar.

“Where’ve you been?” Steve’d asked.

And the wide, boyish grin that met him could melt his knees to this day. “Nice to see you too, ma’.”

“I ain’t your ma’, but comin’ home lookin’ like this ain’t right Bucky, especial-“

“Oh, shush it,” Bucky had laughed, putting his drenched coat on the hanger and grabbing Steve to swirl him around in a waltz. “What kindda depressed slush is this?” _Wasting My Love on You_ had been playing in their small apartment, Annette Hanshaw lighting up the rain on the window.

“I happen to like it,” Steve’d scoffed and tried to free himself from his friend’s grab.

“Oh Stevie, why so blue?” Bucky let him go and flashed him a pair of big, stormy blue puppy-eyes. “I’m home now, ain’t I?”

Though Steve didn’t remember himself confirming Bucky’s search for approval, he _did_ recall the bottle his friend had brought from his bag. The prohibition had had a rumor of being awful, though Steve wouldn’t know. At the time, he was yet to be legal, and a drop of alcohol would send him through the floorboards.

“I didn’t think you could get drunk anyways?”

Steve glared up at Sam without answering, pouring himself another glass. So what if he couldn’t get drunk? The rain outside were weak and almost stale in the wind, truly boring and grey. The lights in the 21st century were of neon, they were bright and colorful and so, so ugly compared to that night. They cut Steve in his eyes, at least tonight they did, and he had placed himself with his back to the windows so he wouldn’t have to look out.

He didn’t usually drink. But tonight, he did.

He drank like they’d drunk that night. They drank on the couch, homebrew in mugs, Steve with a sketchbook in his lap. Bucky’s contrast in front of the window had simply been too mesmerizing not to draw, and while Steve’s charcoal danced around on the paper in the faint light of the candles, helping them save on electricity, Bucky had hummed with the tunes.

When Bucky had been on his third mug, Steve had barely begun his first, taking it slow in order not to knock himself out completely. But then Bucky had started talking about his work on the harbor. Jawing on about his colleagues and how the ships came in and how the water would rise and fall, and all Steve could think of was how he would never be there. His weak little body, barely passing as functioning, would either get swept away by the winds, washed to sea by the waves, or he would succumb to pneumonia from the mixture of the two.

Now, of course, he could stroll on the harbor during a full-on hurricane and it would only show on his hair. His body was big, bigger than many of those on the harbor. Had now been then, he would have been there. Been there with Bucky.

“Steve Rogers drinkin’,” Bucky had laughed as Steve started emptying his mug. “Drinkin’ illegal substances though he ain’t of age yet, who’d have thought?”

Steve had sniffled and made a grimace when the harsh liquid stung his throat and tongue. “James Barnes, the neighborhood heartthrob, bringin’ home illegal substances. Who’d have thought?”

Bucky had laughed from the bottom of his belly, and it might’ve been the alcohol, but Steve remembered his cheeks heating up. “Used to be, love,” Bucky had growled. “Now ’m the neighborhood delinquent.”

Steve scoffed. “Yeah right.”

Bucky had gestured for him to join him on the couch, and Steve had dragged himself over there from the armchair he’d drawn in. As Bucky had put his arm around him, Steve had started giggling like a dame and leaned his head back to rest on Bucky’s bulgy arm.

“Not as strait-laced as everybody be thinkin’, huh?”

Steve had barked. “Defender of the weak and part-time idiot, weren’t that what you used’o say, huh, Buck?”

“Yeah, I guess…”

The songs of the radio had become static, and Sam went to turn them off.

“Leave it.” Steve’s voice was dry and hoarse. He ran his hand through his hair, leaning into the palm and closing his eyes.

“Steve…”

“I said leave it!”

Sam growled. “Y’know, I came here because Nat said you got real moody last year, and she doesn’t know why. And when Natasha doesn’t know why, something’s up.” He leaned on the counter, trying to get Steve to look at him. “So what’s up, Steve?”

“Nothin’.”

“Steve.”

“Leave me.”

“Steve!”

But Steve was done answering anyone. He emptied the last of an ineffective bottle in the clear crystal glass, allowing the brown liquor to burn down his throat.

Sam shook his head. “If you’re hurtin’ over something from the past, Steve, tell me about it.” For a while, only the rain could be heard between them. It was true that the star-spangled man with a plan couldn’t get intoxicated unless it was meant for an elephant, but tonight his plan was playing pretend, and playing pretend was half of it.

So after what felt like eternity, Sam shook his head. “Fine,” he shrugged and grabbed his jacket. “I’ll tell mom you said hi.”

“Bye.”

The door slammed a little harder than necessary. Steve barely noticed, but only just barely. He sunk together and hid his face.

Bucky had played with his hair, and Steve had breathed in his cologne, freshly applied after a shower that had washed that god-awful rose from him. The heat of the drinks and candles had warmed Steve from within, and a great feeling of content had spread from his core to his fingertips.

“Feelin’ good bud?” Bucky had chuckled and brushed his arm, resting on his thigh, in order to reaffirm him his drunken state was just that – a state.

“M-hm,” Steve hummed and smiled wide as ever. “Hey Buck…”

“Yeah?”

“I have somethin’ to tell ya…”

“What is it, Stevie?”

Steve snorted as his stomach turned, giggling with relief when nothing came up. “I love you, Buck.”

Bucky had ruffled his hair the way he hated it. “I love you too, Stevie.”

“More than boxing?”

“A hundred times more than boxing.”

Goosebumps still rose on Steve’s arms when he recalled how he’d twisted his face to look at Bucky and asked; “more than the ladies?” And when his memory brought him the next part, he could have fallen off the barstool and melted into the carpet.

“More than any lady in the whole wide world.”

“More than Dolores?”

“And more than Joan.”

“More than me?”

Bucky had laughed. “You ain’t no dame, Steve.”

“Oh, right…”

“I still love you though.” His reassuring had come with pads on the head and brushes to the arm.

Steve had peered into his deep, dark eyes before leaning in, buzzed from drinking and hazy from Bucky’s cologne. He’d rested his hand on Bucky’s chin and he’d kissed him, and Bucky had let him.

Steve still didn’t know why he’d let him. Had they been caught, they’d surely at least ended with a fine that would have left him without meds.

“Happy birthday, Bucky…” He brushed his lips and closed his eyes, sighing with the memory and raising the drink before leaving the glass as a metaphor for himself.

Empty.

oOo

The asset recognized the man in the blue suit in front of him. 5 feet and 10 inches, he could be taken care of with blunt trauma to the head or a stun to the neck. With the soft fabric, a direct strike to the heart could probably set it out as well.

But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

They had strapped him in when he returned, patched him up and cared little for painkillers. How could they know he was there? That he was fully there? A passenger in his own body, the asset could barely even remember his own name. A B was in there, he believed. Maybe it was a P, perhaps… He wasn’t sure, but it was a B or a P or a D…

“Mission report.”

“They’re most likely dead.” His own voice was alien, so disassociated to the rest of him.

“Elaborate.”

“They’re most likely dead.”

“Can we use most likely for anything?”

The asset felt a nerve flinch below his eye, barely noticeable to the people around him. “No.”

Pain exploded in his face, sending shivers down his entire body. He growled and moved to attack whoever had hit him, but the restrictions on his ankles, hips, wrists, waist, and head didn’t allow him to move one inch.

“Wipe him and send him out to make sure they’re dead.”

The asset’s breath sped up. He didn’t want to go back. He was so tired. A voice in him whispered, eager to go, excited for the kill, exhilarated by the hunt. But the body was aching. It would never show, but in the back of his head, he was begging for sleep.

He did good things. They told him he did good things. Beneficial to mankind. The other guy, the one who spoke for him, didn’t care. He didn’t recognize right from wrong. The asset was him, and he was the asset. But they were different. The asset didn’t care for what they did when they were sent out. They had a goal, they had a reason to be, and that was what drove him.

Another hit rained on him. The asset had failed to answer a question he hadn’t heard. The rims around him tightened. His heart sped up when he recognized the flickering lights. Words were spoken to him, words he acknowledged but didn’t understand. He shook his entire body to get free, to stop them, to get some sleep – not this sleep, not the cold, crippling sleep that was without the comfort of nightmares and sanity, nothing but the nothingness!

A roar erupted in the white room in which he was held, only later did he realize it was his own. He struggled, his metal arm ripping free, earning screams that pleased him. He hit and he ripped, and he kicked, and he jumped. He was grabbed and pulled back, he bit, and the blood tasted frighteningly delightful on his tongue.

Electricity ran through his body and made his arm feel as if it was ready to pop straight off. His teeth gritted. He slammed his head back, making a blind run for it. The asset enjoyed the hunt, but not when he was on the receiving end of it. His body remembered the halls. His arm smashed whatever heads were in the way, and soon enough he stumbled out in wet weather, running, running, running, not making a sound, quickly abandoning the traitorous mud for the less revealing trees.

He found wood and he found concrete. The light came and the light went. The asset kept moving. He found buildings in which he could hide when jeeps came too close and were out before a never-to-be victim saw him. He didn’t sleep. Sleep was for a safe and sound fool, and he was no fool. But oh, how he wished…

When he reached a city with buildings reaching into the sky, the heavens had opened to pour upon him. His body was soaked. He kept to the shadows but reached a square in which even shadows seemed bright, and it was there it all collided:

A tune roared above him from a million screens, mixing colors he had long forgotten. Creatures emerged in the light, big and green, slim and red and golden, black, purple– and blue, covered in stars. Bucky grabbed his head and backed into an alley as a familiar face stared down at him with a smirk, letting out half-assed words of wisdom.

“Yo bro, you okay?”

A civilian had crossed his path, and before long, said obstacle was well placed without any recollection of ever seeing him, sleeping soundly on black bags behind cans of tin.

The man with the stars had answers. Answers the asset needed.


	2. City of Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lost and scared Bucky stumbles around in New York, haunted by his faded memories returning due to the lack of medication, struggling with withdrawal and PTSD. One thought roams his head: Steve. He isn’t sure his best friend is alive, but he seems to recall the stupid suit in the back of his mind – a recent memory.
> 
> Steve returns from a mission and collapses in his bed. He is quickly awoken my sirens from Tony’s lab. Bucky has entered the building. He’s trapped, and he’s scared.

The wet hair stuck to the asset’s face. He had found a partially dry alleyway in which he could gather the few functioning thoughts that had returned to him. The blind instinct of the white room and the man in the blue suit had gone blurry, but only fragments of chaos hissed in his head.

He hadn’t noticed the chill of the wind as he’d run, but in the corner of two buildings, he became aware of the lacking coverage. He wasn’t in the appropriate attire for his mission, but every time he went out from the shadows he was met by never-to-be victims.

Steam floated around him like clouds on the ground, coming up from manholes and spreading a little, stinky warmth.

It had been warm. The desert-sand had made it difficult to stand.

He flinched. The unfamiliar memory that had pierced through him quickly disappeared. His feet were bare, the toes curled to get a little heat.

It took all his might to get on his feet and stumble out. It had darkened – he had fled from the bright screens of the square but not too far. The man covered in stars would be hearable from time to time, reminding the asset of what he was doing.

“Oh my God!” A woman hurried her child away from him. He didn’t look at them, kept his eyes down. The best way to go unnoticed was to avoid eye contact and stay down. To stay down he would need coverage. He didn’t blend in, dressed in a dirty undershirt. His weapon was shining where an arm used to be, disguised but fully exposed.

He followed a man down a silent road. The stranger seemed to catch on to him, because moments later, a gun was drawn and pointed at him.

He had had a gun. They both had. The asset had shot first and last, a well-placed aim at the head, followed by the retrieving of a black box. The sand would have swallowed him up, but the asset had disappeared long before.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

He came to himself, tilting up against the rough brick wall by his side. The man in front of him began running towards a fence, quickly jumping and climbing. The asset rushed to him and dragged him down. Blood painted the concrete below them when the stranger with the gun laid still.

That hadn’t been the intention. The color painting the ground made him freeze for a moment before the man groaned. The asset let out a breath of relief.

Relief? Why? So what if this man became a casualty? Those happened.

But the asset took off the man’s jacket and pocketed his gun before jumping over the fence, caring little for erasing his trace. Sloppy, he knew it, but with the jumper and the extra weapon, he found comfort on a hot grate near a well-smelling place.

He curled up but didn’t close his eyes. On high alert he let his body rest in perfect stillness until a big man with what seemed like an even bigger beard began huffing and puffing at him to get off the grate. The asset growled at him and flashed the gun, a trick he had found helpful to get the worst nuisances to go away.

But this man was clearly too stubborn. He reached out to grab the asset and was quickly rewarded with a kick to the groin and a face in the trash. With the turmoil, the door to the well-smelling place opened.

It had smelled good – it really had, but in a different way. The knives had hurt and cut in his body, the man using them being eager to get him out and away.

Someone yelled at the asset, it seemed to be a lady, but he wasn’t sure. She started screaming up and waving something small.

It was something like that he had retrieved. A small device that had also been used by the man in the blue suit. It had made a sound, and next thing he knew his skin was on fire.

Something hit him in the head. The woman had thrown something at him. He growled at her, making himself bigger as he approached. Her face filled with fear as she backed away and closed the door. He banged on it, but the man in the trash began yelling. The asset ran without consideration. He had had his rest.

He ran out on the road and the screeching of a car was like a siren in his ears before he was hit and ended up on the road.

The road. The road had been wet like tonight. The car had spun and hit a tree. He had pulled the door open and dragged out a man, a man who screamed and had recognition painted on his face. The woman had begged. They both had. His fist had been quick.

Stark.

“Stark.”

“I ain’t no feckin’ Stark!” The asset was lifted from the pavement. “Get the feck out of the road ye drunk!”

He snarled but was pushed brutally into a crowd who opened like fish to a shark. Someone grabbed him and he punched.

After running again, down alleys, up fire escapes, down steep paths, and over busy roads, he found himself shaking and exhausted. He wasn’t sure how long it had been.

5 days. That’s how long he’d been in the house watching the farm.

This wasn’t a farm. This was a city, and he found a group of shaggy looking people assembled around a fire. He crept closer, keeping to shadows. They didn’t acknowledge him but allowed him to come closer to the heat.

“So an’way, a wen’ to ‘e buil’ing and got kicked out befor’ a even got to see ‘er!” Someone snorted. “She a bitch an’ways, but damn e, she’s ma bitch!”

Dogs had run outside, barking and playing. They had been of no concern, big, but not big enough.

“So pretty…” The asset flinched when someone touched his arm and pulled it away. A woman with no teeth grinned at him. “A watch, isn’t it? So pretty! Give it to me, won’t cha doll?”

He started to move away.

“So shiny – come now, help an ol’ woman!”

A man had come in and out but never to the fields. On the 5th day, the asset had gone during the night, tilted over a candle and set the place on fire. The vehicle in the barn had been easy to start.

Pain scorched through his entire body, causing him to crumble below his own weight.

He had taken off, flown back to the base and got frozen down. He had been woken up, sent away, succeeded, returned, awoken, failed, beaten, frozen, awoken, succeeded, beaten, beaten, hurt, pain.

He came to himself curled up in the corner. The people around him were carefully watching, keeping a safe distance – all but the lady, still confusing his shiny hand for a watch. It acted on its own, closing around her throat, not letting go before he poured all of his will to release her. She coughed and spat at him, limping away with curses.

“I…” His hoarse voice was unfamiliar to him. How long had it been since he last had spoken?

“You don’t look all there, bud.” A cheeky smile and dirt-blond hair shined like an angelic figure in the dark, dim world. Familiar, it seemed, despite being unrecognizable. “What’ve you been doin’ Buck? Boxin’ again?”

The asset shook his head, hiding in his own arms and pulling something that felt like hair and skin. “I remember…”

“Easy there…” The man, skinny and weak but so, so strong, poured him a cup of coffee. “I was worried sick. Y’know you should only fight when I already got it handled, right? That’s how I know I can take them – you’re my backup, okay?”

He was handed a cup. Stared at it between his fingers, still smelling the fire and listening to it crackle behind the blond.

“I remember _all_ of them!” His voice cracked as faces flashed through his mind. Man, man, man, woman, man, man, woman, woman, man… There were more, so, so many!

“ _Sh_ …” The stranger reached out to brush his hair, but his hand vanished. “Come find me, Buck.”

“Kennedy.”

“I’ll be waiting. ‘kay?”

“Dupuy.”

The man faded away, leaving only the strangers barely paying attention to him. In his cold corner, he had his back covered, but the ghosts jumping from his head made him aware of the chaos in his body.

“STARK!”

His scream made the strangers jump. The woman without the teeth chuckled in a very old-lady manner. “You have to go further uptown to get to Stark. Ain’t no billionaires here!”

The others laughed. Echoes of horror, piercing his mind until he let out a scream. Stark. He had to get to Stark!

oOo

Steve opened the door and threw the shield on the couch before dragging himself to the bed and collapsing. Sure, the serum had made him more durable, but that didn’t mean sessions with Natasha was easier. The black widow just loved having a big, strong man she could punch on as much as she wanted – honestly, Steve didn’t blame her. He’d seen women struggle in the start of the 20th century, and even though Natasha was tough, one could barely turn on the TV without a new infuriating incident…

He was sore all over but could feel his body heal up. It tickled a bit, and as he shimmied out of his training suit, the idea of a shower became less and less tempting. The bed was right there, the soft, new covers right below him. All he had to do was to snuggle up and sleep.

It had been a few days since March 10th. Steve had apologized to Sam without explaining the situation, for what explaining could he do? People in the 21st century were more open when it came to the, uh… Steve didn’t even know himself why he had kissed Bucky that night. Or why he’d let him. But he had… Though there was no reason to recall it all now, his dear friend being lost to time and he himself trapped in an unforgiving future, this new acceptance had put everything into perspective.

Was it Bucky, and Bucky alone? Or was it, uhm… people similar to Bucky?

God, Steve couldn’t even bring himself to say men.

It had been so comfortable home in Brooklyn with Bucky by his side. No questions asked – they had shared a bed most night, Bucky sleeping on the couch when Steve got ill, of course they had been a little touchy from time to time.

Steve closed his eyes and curled up on the bed. It didn’t matter… Not now.

He got out of his underwear and dragged himself to the bathroom. The chill below his feet was refreshing. He looked in the mirror – Sam had asked him to try and grow a beard, try something new should be healthy. Of course Sam would realize he had been a bit off lately, and he had been right – it looked nice.

So Steve turned on the hot water and rested his forehead against the walls of the shower, allowing the water to run down his body. He rubbed the soap on his skin, massaged his scalp and mellowed in luxury he couldn’t even dream of in the 30s. Tony wouldn’t spare anything when it came to this, but of course, he hadn’t grown up poor as a rat…

Steve looked down to a place he hadn’t paid any attention to for a while. He hadn’t had the urges or needs to relieve himself, but he would be lying if he didn’t fear the serum had changed him in that aspect. Initially, after the experiment, he had been on the road performing for months, being exhausted with new mental impressions every night. Then he’d gone rogue in the army to save Bucky, and then, the ice… After the ice, he’d been so busy he hadn’t even thought of it.

But it’d been a few years now. He’d tried a few times, but it had been a meh-feeling every time. Maybe he really was a 100-year-old man?

Pushing the fear of growing old away Steve turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. He started drying himself and was preparing to trim his beard when a siren howled around him.

“Mr. Stark asks everyone to meet him in his lab,” Jarvis said.

“Why starting an alarm for that?” Steve scoffed and washed the oils Clint had given him away from his chin. He had to ask the guys why they were so obsessed with him growing a beard…

“An enemy has presented themselves in the building,” the polite, robotic voice answered. “Mr. Stark has them in custody in his lab.”

Steve jumped together. “Why didn’t you start with that?!” He ran out and got dressed, grabbed his shield on the way out and ran out in the halls. He got to the elevator and met up with Bruce, exchanging a quick nod before going down to Tony’s lab.

“Know what’s up?”

“Not a clue,” Bruce answered. “Jarvis said something a-about an enemy in custody?”

“They ain’t usually that easy to catch – would’ve had to fight first, right?”

“Maybe a diversion?”

Steve shrugged. The elevator opened its doors, and the two of them rushed out.

Opening the doors to the lab, Steve first laid eyes on the other Avengers, gathered without looking aggressive as they would in battle. They parted when the two newcomers arrived.

“Steve…”

Natasha’s words faded. Steve laid eyes on a man in a chair much like the one one’d see at a dentist. Strapped in with metal hinges, shaking all over and with greasy hair falling like curtains over the eyes. He stumbled closer, moving Natasha’s arm off him. The man gritted his teeth and banged his head against the headrest. Tony, wearing everything but his helmet, was typing in things on a holographic keyboard.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice was barely a croak.

The man’s eyes opened wide, bloody red and wild as a beast. He snarled. “Who the hell is Bucky?!”

“A~and goodnight.” Tony pressed a button and took a needle from his desk, sliding over in his chair to the ferocious man and piercing his skin. He growled and yelled, and Tony fell back as soon as the content of the needle had been injected.

The arm in which the needle had stung pulsed as the muscles kept straining in spasms, but the other one was completely still – in fact, it wasn’t even there. Steve stared at the sleek metal that had replaced his friend’s limb.

The huffing and growling died out. Bucky’s pupils got wide, and his head fell back with an empty expression.

“Probably not the wisest solution,” Tony proclaimed. “But much better than him biting my fingers off.”

“Who is it?” Clint asked, looking at the symbol on the arm. “A HYDRA-agent?”

“Could you shut up?”

Steve was grateful for Natasha shutting Clint up, but he didn’t register at the time. He stared at his childhood friend. Scars covered one of his shoulders. A dirty jacked had been taken off him and was thrown on the floor. He was shaking and sweating, his lips moved as if he tried to speak.

“Sargent James Buchanan Barnes,” Tony said. “’Bucky’ amongst friends. Born in Brooklyn on March 10th, 1917, he served in World War 2 alongside our favorite old Captain before falling to what was presumed to be his death in 1945.” The engineer turned a screen to let the others see Bucky’s military file. A picture of him, young and handsome and so, so much healthier than now looked at them from the corner. “You know anything about this, Steve?”

Steve barely heard him. He looked back at Bucky who’d gone awfully pale. He shook his head, a knee-jerk reaction, and backed away. Widow helped him sit down, and he buried his face in his hands. “He’s dead.”

The others were silent. Natasha kneeled by his side. “Steve…”

“He’s dead, I didn’t leave him! I didn’t abandon him to HYDRA!”

“We know, Steve, please calm down…”

Steve felt his eyes burn. He blinked to get them away, but as his world collapsed around him, he just saw Bucky falling again and again. He didn’t abandon him!

“St… e.. ve…” The group looked at Bucky. He was slowly moving his head from side to side. “S… te… ve…”

Steve sniffled and shook his head.

Tony got up and took a blood sample from the metal-armed man. “Dead or alive, we’ll figure it out. But I need some of you to escort him to one of the cells.”

“He doesn’t belong in a cell!” Steve heard his voice go up a few pitches, but he didn’t care. He just looked at Tony, flushed red and with a chest that bobbed up and down in order to breathe. “He-“

“He’s not an endangered animal, Rogers.” There was no doubt about Tony’s stands here. “He walked in and kept saying ‘Stark’ before nearly collapsing. He’ll get food and water; we’ll take care of him and make sure he gets treatment.” He waved a hand to show he was nearly done. “He’s not all there, Cap, you have to understand – right now, this is not your old buddy.”

Steve looked at Bucky whose eyes had fixated on him with a mixture of confusion and exhaustion. He looked like hell, Steve had to admit… It pierced his very core, seeing the tortured creature that had once been his sole companion through sickness and war.

But Natasha got him up. Steve felt the stormy blue eyes follow him as he left. And though he had heard countless brooding role-models tell him the exact opposite in his childhood, as soon as he got in the elevator and the doors closed, he broke down.

He cried his heart out, shook like possessed, caring little for Natasha’s presence. She stopped the elevator and sat down with him, letting his eyes bleed out the salty tears ‘till exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really hope you're enjoying this story (and this chapter <3) Constructive criticism is always welcome, as I'd love to get better writing in English! This chapter is a bit confusing because, uh, Bucky is confused xD Hope it had a good effect!


	3. Haze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I'm just an awful writer, aren't I? Disappearing for weeks, then posting a shorter-than-usual chapter, I'm so, so sorry T-T (Ironically, I'm partially late to this because I've been reading loooong Stucky fics xD)
> 
> I'm still new to AO3, and writing in English, so your support really means 3000 to me! Thank you for everyone writing for updates - I'm a senior and graduating in a few weeks, so you can imagine the stress the current situation is just a tiiiny bit stressful... This chapter was supposed to be much longer, but since the next one was planned to be a lot shorter (and boring, tbh), I decided to make this a Sad!Steve haze and a Bucky's Scared merge and let the next one be longer. I can't promise when I update, but I WILL update, even if it kills me!
> 
> That said, I'm very grateful for everyone reading along - and a special thank you to TheAsh0 for proofreading!

There were lots of things Steve didn’t know back in the 40s, and that amount of stuff had quadrupled since then. There were shiny new machines in the kitchen that used to be in restaurants only, and there were words and phrases being used on TV that he had never heard before. Sometimes, the things he doesn’t understand makes him feel stupid – for example, when he doesn’t know how to operate the fancy shower Tony put in every room. He knew where hot was, he knew where cold was, on and off, he got it. But what were the remaining 2.000 buttons for?

The main thing he didn’t understand, however, was how his friend, his _dead_ friend, could sit there in front of him, surrounded by doctors and shrinks and weird machines moving by themselves.

“He’s going to be okay.”

Steve looked at Natasha who’d come up beside him. The widow gave him a half-smile before crossing her arms and looking through the one-way mirror, eyes fixed on Bucky strapped to the chair in which he seemed very uncomfortable. He’d slept in a cell – not one of the cold, bare ones, Natasha had promised Steve, but one with a proper bed and a sturdy meal. He’d thrown the food at the wall and slept on the floor, curled up in the corner.

“What’re they doin’ to him?” Steve bit his lip by his own question, worry digging in his stomach like a parasite.

“Making sure he won’t do damage.”

“To us?”

Natasha hesitated. “And himself.”

Knowing Tony, “to us” was probably the priority, but the intruder did seem to get more comfort than the day before. He was drugged up to the point of his eyes glazed over and crossed when consciousness graced him with a visit, but he was being fed – though through a tube, since he denied eating for himself.

“You think I can see him?” He knew it was out of the question – the therapists in the room in front of him had informed him that they’d need him later. _Later_ , once they’d made sure Bucky was physically fine, to jock his memory. He’d seemed to recognize more in Steve than anything else, but as of now, Bucky’s brain was pudding in his skull. High enough to be harmless as a kitten, Bucky was only struggling to get free once every 15 minutes or so, and usually weakly.

Steve didn’t notice when Natasha left his side. He didn’t notice when Sam came with food for him, or when Clint brought him a chair to sit down, or when the sun started to go down. The doctors and therapists (and Tony) walked around in the medical lab for hours upon hours, trying new things and searching for answers in new ways. They stopped the supply of drugs at some point, but numbed, Bucky didn’t react.

Not until the therapists started working. Properly working.

They started out by talking. Asking questions to which they received no answers, other than meek growls or a twitch of a finger. Even these small gestures were recorded and noted down by multiple people in the room.

Steve presumed it was a young idealist, perhaps fresh out of school or new to an internship, that stood up in front of Bucky, feet apart in a stern stand, with a clipboard in his hands. He talked. Steve could see the pictures on his clipboard, though he couldn’t read it or hear what was said. But the smug grin on the way too young face was a ticking bomb Steve had seen too many times to count, on young privates in the army or big shots in alleyways - or in the mirror of his bathroom eons ago.

And one question must’ve hit a trigger.

Bucky’s mouth opened wide. As if Steve saw a horror movie on mute, a silent scream made the people in the room flinch. Chaos broke out. Bucky began to struggle, twisted his whole body to get out, and scream after scream, soundless but wide, seemed to fall from his mouth.

Steve jumped up and out before he could even think the thought. He rushed to the hallway and burst into the room they held Bucky in. Doctors tried to get him to leave, but a loud screech made them all quiver.

Steve heard Tony’s suit fly through the room to assemble on him, and his breath got stuck in his throat when he saw Bucky pick himself up from the floor, surrounded by broken metal, and dash towards him - towards the door.

“Cap!” Tony yelled. “Real bad time to freeze again!”

The snark remark made Steve return to function. He blocked the door just in time, Bucky colliding into him.

The sheer force made Steve’s legs tremble, but he stood his ground, grabbing Bucky’s shoulders. A feeling of dread rushed through his stomach, and he couldn’t stop the disgust piercing him by the feel of the solid metal shoulder of Bucky’s left arm. Bucky tried throwing himself away, but Steve had a hold on him.

A shiver made Steve blink a few times. He looked down at the shell of a man in front of him, insides going cold once he realized Bucky was crying.

A man with wild, unkempt hair and scars all over his body, a metal arm attached to where symmetric muscle should have thrived, was crying and shivering in front of Steve. There was no light in his eyes, no expression on his face. Tears rolled down his cheeks, breath caught in small whiffs, his body tense and rigid.

Very slowly, anticipating an attack at any moment, Steve lowered his head to look him in the eyes. “Buck,” he said in a soft, gentle whisper. “Do you remember who I am?”

Bucky looked at him without looking at him. As if Steve was made of see-through glass, his old friend’s eyes glanced right through him. “S… S… St… Ste-ve…”

Steve nodded, gesticulating behind Bucky’s back for Tony to back off. The man, ever the gentle spirit, had been approaching with another needle to paralyze Bucky, intending on taking him away from the conscious plan. “It’s me,” he whispered, words only meant for Bucky’s ears as he gently rubbed his shoulders. “Bucky, it’s me, it’s Steve…”

“S… -teve…”

“Do you remember who I am?”

“St… -eve…” His hoarse voice wasn’t shaking the least.

Steve gave his shoulders a squeeze, earning nothing but a continuing blank stare. “We’ll getcha back, ok Buck? Just like the good ol’ days, remember? Home in Brooklyn?”

“Bw… Bwook…”

“Yeah… Home.” With caution he’d never used before, Steve closed the distance between them a little. To his surprise, Bucky’s head fell on his shoulder, exhaustion shaking through his entire body.

“Ho-” Bucky tensed up and pulled himself free, lashing out towards the doctor behind him before stumbling onto the floor. Steve looked at the woman, empty needle in her hand, before tending to his friend, screaming at everyone around him as soon as Bucky drifted away.

oOo

He wasn’t the Asset to these people. They gave him a name, but only one of them used it. Usually, they just called him “He”, but they still poked him and drugged him, although less and less. They weren’t kind, but the bed they gave him was soft, although he slept on the floor. A bed was a luxury for the weak, serving a sleep too deep to wake up in an instant, leaving him unprepared for missions. The food they gave him was first firm and colorful, but soon, it came through tubes when he denied eating.

He felt stronger. Stronger in a different way. Not the pseudo-strong that came after running for a long time or lifting something heavy or snapping a neck and firing a gun, but real strong, like he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Strong in his stomach, which didn’t want to throw up anymore, and strong in his limbs, no longer tired after he’d stop resisting the people around him. _Fuck it_ , he’d thought, not quite knowing where he knew that word from. Some of the other people must’ve said it. _Ran and hid and ran. Here, they poke as well. Here, they sting as well. So, so tired_ …

In all honesty, he was too tired to really care. He was so sick of running, and the drugs running through his system became lesser and lesser. New doctors arrived. He presumed he’d been in this new place for a long time, but then again, time didn’t really make sense anymore… He’d once closed his eyes and felt the immense coldness before opening them to new clothes, new cars, new weapons, but it had just been the very next day, he was certain of it.

The new doctors poked too, but they did other things as well. Voices became coherent, but flashes and images started piercing his brain. Memories he didn’t want of people he couldn’t remember, causing terror and rage, making other people pin him to the floors when he got loose.

They were smart. The things that held him became stronger every time, and eventually, he’d stopped fighting. He was let loose, allowed to sit, but only when there were walls between him and others, and always after a needle had made him drowsy.

And then, there was the man… The one who smelled like 6th grade, whatever that was, and long days in summer, whatever that meant, and the one who could be taken care of when disarmed, as long as his ankles were compromised. He came more often, sat beside him and talked about nothing in a quiet, soothing voice that made him want to cry. When the man was there, it was okay for others to poke him.

What he liked the least was the therapists, but the new people had brought a girl. She was thin and cheerful and talked all the time, but he didn’t mind. Even when she had to strap him down, she kept talking and giggling, and somehow, that made it more ok. He could close his eyes and pretend. He didn’t know what he pretended, but he did.

“My name is Shuri,” she said one day. He’d heard others address her by that, but now she smiled at him and looked expectantly. “What is your name?”

He’d just woken up, he was sure of it, but the people around him wore new clothes, and the clock on the wall said it’s been at least a day. He wasn’t sure anymore. He knew numbers, he knew time, but only when it was given to him. The idea of processing it made his head hurt, but still, a wonderful feeling spread inside of him. He had an idea. It had been a long time since he’d had an actual idea.

“Mister Barnes,” Shuri said, voice stern yet calm. “Do you know your name?”

His eyes flickered around and landed on a familiar face way too far away. “S… -teve…”

“Steve? N-” Shuri looked over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. “What are you doing here? You are supposed to wait!”

“I got sick of waitin’.” Steve sounded like he wanted to walk over to them, but he stayed put.

“S… Steve…”

Shuri looked at him, pouting a bit, before shrugging. “Come over here, you lovesick idiot.”

“I’m not-”

“Love…”

Both Shuri and Steve looked at him as if he’d said something weird. He had repeated the word because it sounded right, and he reached out for the man. “Steve…”

Usually, when people looked at the asset like that, he’d just finished a mission - _just_ finished, and sometimes, people were sad because of that. But this wasn’t the asset, this was him, and he hadn’t pulled any trigger or snapped any bones.

Steve came to his side, and that smell of recognition flooded him like nothing before. He could drown in it, and it would be a happy death.

“Bucky,” Steve mumbled. “Do you know your name?”

The man’s hand was on his shoulder, and he took it in his, bringing it to his face. The hot skin calmed his coolness, just like it had done on those colder nights in their tiny, one-room apartment. He’d been freezing, and Steve, who’d usually be feverish at that time of year, had curled up beside him on the couch, lending him a little warmth under the covers. “You okay, Buck?” he'd asked.

“Bu… cky…” He stuttered, keeping the warm hand on his forehead. “Bu… cky... “

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did the therapist say? Tune in next week(ish), on "Do I Have Any Idea How To Post Right?"


End file.
